The Living Fire
by mackenzie925
Summary: In the darkest nights, she can't stop thinking about him ...


**Title: **_The Living Fire_

**Rating: **_PG_

**Pairing: **_Brennan/Booth_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Bones._

**Spoilers: **_Through Season Five's finale._

**Author's Note: **I know many have written their version of what should or could happen between our favorite duo after the season finale. I didn't want to do an all out story because I think many authors have already covered the basics. But I couldn't get this snippet out of my head. I hope you all enjoy it. And I must have a call out to the Twilight soundtracks … they helped me find the right dire mood I needed to be in while I wrote this. J

The camp was finally quiet. The noises had stopped a few hours ago, the rustling of footsteps on the ground a little after that. Yet the sounds and voices in her head remained, loud enough to steal her sleep but soft enough to give her worry space to grow. She tried to spend her down time from the dig doing something productive, when the torrential rains were unforgiving or when the shadows from their spotlights in the dark night finally blurred her vision. The latter explained her current status, and like every night she had found herself at her desk, writing in her journal her accounts of their famous discovery, as well as what her team had so far survived both ecologically and professionally.

And like every night her notes took little of her time.

Like every night, Temperance Brennan tried to stop thinking about him.

Rationally she explained her sleeplessness with the extremely uncomfortable cot she was forced to sleep on night after night. Right now the cot was as hard as ever, and Brennan couldn't suppress a groan as she shifted her weight in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position. She was used to them, of course, having spent the dawn of her career mostly in tents and in conditions just like this. But age and considerable wear on her body the past few years provided an acceptable explanation for why the cot was the source for her sleeping woes.

Even as her mind convinced her of this, she still couldn't block out the surge of fear that routinely coursed through her body.

Brennan gazed across to the other side of the tent to her desk. The soft glow from her oil lantern remained there, and the tiny flame flickered strips of light across the ceiling and walls of her living space with every breeze. The shadows created by the dancing light from the lantern were almost powerful enough to hide the letter on her desk that she carelessly searched for through the mild darkness. But the darkness could not stop her determination to see it, to feel it once more with her endless stare.

Inwardly she knew she shouldn't, but Brennan rose from the cot in one quiet, swift motion. She was to her desk within seconds. Another breeze traveled gently through her tent, brushed by her, through her shorts and tank top, cooling her skin. Instinctively, her eyes looked out across the surface of her desk, past her laptop, her stack of files, and her most recent cup of chamomile tea. A short search was all she needed to find the blue envelope, slid between her journal and the small dolphin statuette her father had given her before she left.

Brennan lifted the envelope from it's hiding place and studied the etchings on its front for the fifty-third time. It was post marked almost a month earlier, and in the right hand corner was an American flag stamp. Her eyes came across her name and address, handwritten, and she smiled softly with a warm rush of familiarity. They had exchanged emails before this, as neither had had the patience to wait for letters. But the moment she received this letter from him, she knew something was different.

Blindly, her courage led her back to the cot to sit, and helped her open the envelope to reveal the letter inside, written on matching stationary. She removed it without a moment's consideration, and idly studied the worn crease along the middle, where it had been folded and refolded over and over again since it arrived.

For the fifty-third time Brennan unfolded the letter and began to read;

_Bones,_

_I'm sorry I'm telling you like this, but I was given little time. The line for the computers was way too long, and I had already used my phone minutes to talk to Parker earlier in the day. This was the only way I could think of to let you know why you wouldn't be hearing from me for awhile._

_Less than an hour ago I was ordered to head up a small alpha team to carry out a top secret mission. I can't tell you any more about it, except by the time you get this letter I'll be hidden somewhere in the Afghan terrain. Supposedly this order came from the top, so no telling how long it will take or how much will be asked of my team. Good thing I studied the Afghan dialect cheat sheet you sent me awhile back. I'll at least be able to find a bathroom if I get lost._

_I know I promised you I would stay out of trouble, but this can't be helped. Orders are orders, and there's nothing I can do._

_Please don't worry about me. Just take care of yourself. I promise to contact you the second I get back to base to let you know I made it through okay. _

_If something does go wrong, I have a favor to ask - tell Parker that I love him, and I'll always be with him. I know you don't believe it, but please pass on the message anyway. It'll make him feel better. Also let our team back at the Jeffersonian know I never stopped missing them while I was over here._

_And Temperance, if I really don't make it back, know that aside from Parker my last thoughts will be of you. You two have been apart of my happiest moments._

_I love you,_

_Booth _

Brennan lazily traced his signature with her fingertips, clearly penned hastily so as to meet his short time table. The shock of the letter's content had long since worn off, gone with the first few times she had read through it. Yet the tears remained, their evidence still seen even now by the faded streaks that lingered down her cheeks. She selfishly longed for science to make leaps and bounds in physics, that someone would discover a way for a human being to teleport to another part of the world in a blink of an eye.

She only wanted to see him, after all … to hear his voice, to see he was in good health … to touch his cheek, to feel his warm skin … to hear his heart beating nice and strong while enclosed in his arms.

Silently, Brennan folded the letter in half and slipped it back into the blue envelope. She held it in her hands for quite awhile, thinking of him with every breath. She considered where he might be right now, if he was preparing himself and his team for a coming assault, or if he was just hiding in their small encampment, waiting until the final orders were given.

She wondered if he was really thinking of her, like he promised.

Brennan hardly believed in magic, yet the thought that the two of them might be thinking of each other at the exact same time, even if by coincidence, made her body fill suddenly with an extraordinary warmth. If they were thinking of each other, here and now, in the same moment, then he was alive and well. And that was all that mattered.

She wondered then if he was in pain. She wondered if he needed her.

A flash of anger rose up within her. Why had he felt obligated to this again? Booth had an amazing son, a job he loved with the FBI, and a very trustworthy and loving core of friends at the Jeffersonian.

He had …

A flash of lightning lit up the sky above her. Seconds later the rain began, and drizzled sluggishly down the outside of her tent.

_He had … _

The most frustrating aspect of Booth's situation was Brennan's inability to help him if he did need it. All she could do was wait and see, hope day after day to receive an email or a new blue envelope to reassure her that everything had proceeded without difficulty. Aside from this year, she couldn't remember the last time she didn't know his location. They shared such important information so frequently as partners, and this _not knowing _made her feel utterly helpless.

Brennan hated feeling helpless. She hated it. She hated it when her parents left. She hated it when her brother left her behind, abandoned her to the care of people she didn't know. She hated it when her foster parents locked her in the trunk of their junky 1981 Oldsmobile when she accidentally neglected to keep up with the laundry before she left for school.

She hated it the moment she discovered Zack, her most gifted graduate assistant, had actually aligned himself with one of the most ruthless criminals the FBI had ever hunted.

Brennan hated even the thought that her best friend could be lost somewhere in Afghanistan, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

The tears began to fall again.

_He had …. _

Brennan stood and walked over to her desk. She placed the letter back where she had found it, snuggled between her journal and the dolphin statuette. The flame in the oil lantern had dimmed further, and she turned the knob on the side to extinguish it for good. The darkness helped drown out the letter's beacon, and she returned to the cot without a second look to her desk's ominous surface. She turned back her few covers, climbed into the bed for the second time that night, and laid out on her back.

When she finally looked up at the ceiling of her tent, Brennan saw the faint outline of the moon through the fabric. The raindrops became fewer the longer she stared up at the moon's most natural glimmer. Her thoughts started to fade from her mind, her bodily exhaustion finally driving them out because of her dire need of sleep. She turned on her left side, away from her desk, away from the letter, away from her worry, and let herself finally slip into rest.

The tears on her cheeks had dried. The letter and its concerning content was mostly forgotten, if only until the next dawn. And her body was finally relaxed.

In the morning Brennan would think it impossible.

For tonight, as the quiet night finally surrounded her, Brennan felt a beautiful, stirring fire enclose her. It was strong, firm, and the most incredible warmth she had ever experienced. No matter the jungle just outside of her tent, no matter the dangers that could overcome, she felt safe while pleasantly bound within the fire's gentle embrace. Every remaining worry that had troubled her recently, from expected problems with the dig to hearing she may never hear Booth's voice again, was suddenly consumed and overpowered by the living fire that held her close.

The living fire … _the strong arms … _

The feel of his breath on her neck … the smell of his sweet fragrance …

The touch of his skin against hers … the beat of his heart falling in rhythm with her own …

And the words he whispered into her ear …

"_We'll be together again."_

_The End_


End file.
